


Home

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Fate/Slutty Meme Magus [8]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Tea Parties, i need more riders actually, moron x moron, ozy gives the hottest takes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: It's only a hobby, after all, and Merlin is only a vagrant. Between cups of tea and an untidy room, maybe the answer he's been waiting for is not as far away as he thinks.





	Home

“Good morning!”

As usual, Merlin instinctively checks the computer screen on his desk to see if his seeing-eye spell has spotted any new developments. He cranes his neck to see what it displays; the spell itself is set to hone in on anything particularly interesting, and in the past few weeks, it only shows the confines of Chaldea. Events he can see by simply walking down the hallway or inviting someone into his room keep popping up, and that simply won’t do. With a shrug, he turns it off and finds himself roaming out of his room and around Chaldea via its many hallways and walkways.

He murmurs a soft, “Good morning,” to the staff as well, as they need it- constantly, maybe more than Ifumi does- and whispers a peaceful spell over their workspace in passing, as he usually does around this time of the day, then goes to find someone to bother. Mordred was always particularly annoyed by his presence, but not always in the most fun of ways; Roman was easy to tease, but Merlin found it in him to give the good doctor a day off from his shenanigans, as he knew he was running on two hours of sleep and fighting the natural need for rest with his third cup of coffee (or energy drink, at this point).

That left…

He peeked into the training room; as per usual, Ifumi was doing inventory check and training some of their mutual friends, (tentative allies?) namely Riders that had agreed to do the routine checks. Of course, this meant that Servants such as the great pharaoh Ozymandias might have a hard time agreeing to such things-

Ah. He’d forgotten. Ifumi had a knack for getting whatever she wanted, didn’t she? For there he was, “demonstrating” to the other Rider Servants how they should dispatch their enemies, in the loudest voice possible. 

“As expected of Ifumi! Truly, these rascals indeed needed some work. Even I enjoy some exercise from time to time,” he was saying, and Ifumi only smiled at him, scribbling on her clipboard. 

“Of course, Great Pharaoh,” she inclined her head graciously, with the air of a foreign princess visiting the pharaoh’s land. “Is there anything you suggest for them?” On her board, Merlin spied a few notes on Ozymandias himself, though he said nothing about it. Casters were weak to Riders, after all. 

“None compare to me,” he began, “but that cannot be helped. It is not a failing on their parts, but simply the radiance of a True Pharaoh…” His eyes closed, arms crossed across his chest as he genuinely gave it some thought. “The young French queen, she hesitates before she attacks. She speaks of love, but forgets that _ you _ are her people!” He half-shouts. “The gorgon is quick on her feet, but lacks the endurance to stand alone in combat. Pair them off and they shall be a formidable opponent for any enemy.”

“Oh, amazing!” She claps her hands. “Thank you. I’ve been wondering what was wrong between them for a couple of days now...they’re strong but...”

“Strength is nothing without unity.” He informed her, and Merlin hung back. “You are not a pharaoh, nay, not even a king, though you may have the disposition of one…. I’m feeling generous; I shall grant you with knowledge that will enrich you for as long as you live!” He held up his hand. “Even the weakest of your army may be pushed to their limits with even one capable “other” at their sides. Do you understand this? No magic in the world could compare to the trust you earn from behind!”

The young Master nodded carefully, contemplating that information in a way that caused her gaze to soften. “I do. It’s alright if I take notes, though, right?”

“Hm.” An interesting expression crosses his features, as though Ozymandias is genuinely considering that this may be offensive to him; with a wave of his hand, he says, “A suitable Master takes such advice into her person without use of parchment or script, but you are inexperienced; I shall allow it.” When her eyes sparkle, the pharaoh turns his head away from her, almost as though he wishes to hide that “spoiling” her has pleased him, too. “Yes, yes.”

Once the training session (and the pharaoh’s lecture) ends, Merlin carefully flits into the room, gauging exactly how willing she might be to participate in his whims for the day. “Good morning~”

Without hesitation, she turns. “Oh! Good morning!”

How familiar. “...ah. I see you don’t have your morning brew?”

“I’m trying to cut back,” she grins, wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Why, were you going to make me some?”

“Mm...no.” He smiles. “Actually, I’d prefer a cup of tea right now. Would you like some of that instead?” 

“Oh! What kind of tea? I haven’t had good tea in a while,” she laments, pressing her clipboard to her chest. “I should have guessed you were that sort of person, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee?”

“It’s a bit too harsh for me,” he admits with a sigh. “And kisses always taste strange after it.”

The comment makes her press her own lips together as though she’s been caught, eyes widening just slightly as though she’s _ remembered _ something. He knows not what, but he has more than an inkling. “...brew me some tea, then.” She commands, waving her hand like she’s a pharaoh herself, and he laughs. 

* * *

“Are you really good with plants, or is this just because you like flowers?”

A soft laugh escaped him as he poured her a cup of tea, careful to fill her cup before his own as he considered how to answer. “I suppose the answer is that you can do a great deal of things with magic,” he admitted. “Sugar?”

“Please,” she sighed deeply. He hadn’t needed clairvoyance to know she’d prefer it over honey, either. It just felt like it suited her. “Is this caffeinated?”

“Would you like it to be?”

She crossed her arms at him. “That’s not what I asked.”

He chuckled a bit, mostly to himself, but loud enough for her to hear him. “My lady, I’ve told you I can grant any wish. Even if it’s just for black tea over green.”

“I do like black tea…” She replied, wistful. “But I kind of wanted to try _ your _ favorite. If you have one.”

It shouldn’t have been interesting to hear; he’s heard this sort of thing many times before, and not only from her. Many people he’s spoken to, nay, had tea with, were curious about what he truly liked, in particular. Usually, he would flub it a little; the real answers were hard to describe to normal humans, after all. Why make it a hassle when one could simply answer they liked pranks, women, and fun? “I like all sorts of tea,” he admits. “Do I have to have a favorite?”

The strangest expression crossed her features. He wondered what she was thinking about. “No. But...does that mean you only pick for other people?”

He tilted his head at her just a bit. “Maybe? Is _ that _ wrong? To accommodate for a guest over yourself?”

“No. But eating or drinking things that only other people like...isn’t that kind of…” She pauses. “Uncomfortable.”

She is projecting, he decides, and lets it be. “Maybe.”

“You say ‘maybe’ to everything.”

A laugh. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I didn’t! Just now,” he calmly informed her, “I said, ‘I don’t’. Weren’t you listening, Master?”

The look on her face, one of an argumentative philosopher that can’t find a new angle, delights him so much that he leans on the table they’re sitting at and props his elbows on it before knitting his fingers together, taking a moment before he rests his chin on top of them. “Are you angry with me now?”

“No.” She huffs, and he holds back a laugh. “You just love to be right, and it frustrates me, but I understand that.”

“Do you?” He asks, interested. Relating to other people is not his forte, but it certainly seems to be hers. 

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “Pass the sugar, please.”

He does so. 

“Can I try your...five _ preferred _ types of tea?”

Another laugh. “You won’t give up on this, will you?” Luckily, this is a request he can oblige. With one hand cradling his chin, he frees the other and touches one finger to the side of her cup. “Five cups. Five tastes. Don’t blame me if you don’t like them,” he warns, but she only smiles.

In the midst of loose papers and old diagrams, the two sit in the middle of his room; Merlin watches carefully as she tries each cup, wondering what interesting reactions she’ll give him for each one. In truth, they’re less ‘teas’ than ‘feelings’ that he won’t deny indulging in; a simple spell for him to perform on a teacup, or a glass of water, after all. Fun, too, when she wrinkles her nose at the first cup.

“It’s bitter, no matter how much sugar I put in it,” she mumbled. “I thought you didn’t like harsh tastes?”

Hardship. “Coffee isn’t simply a harsh taste,” he admits. “Try the next one.”

She nods, somewhat intrigued by whatever spell he’s put on the cup. “Alright. Don’t rush me.” He watched as she took a paper napkin from the table and pressed it to her tongue, which admittedly amused him. “Okay. Next one.”

He watched her carefully. They were set in a certain order, after all.

“...this is...chamomile, isn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

No, it was much more like _ patience _, or peace. But he didn’t say so. “Something like that. Do you like it?”

“A little.” She dabbed the napkin to her tongue again. “Next one?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, this is-” She flapped her hands a bit and set the cup down. “What is this flavor? It’s like...spicy? Chai? Not chai...Like I’m waiting to open gifts?”

Anticipation. “Right, right,” he found himself smiling. “Hurry on to the next one.”

“I’m enjoying myself, Merlin!” She huffed. “I really like this one. It’s exciting.” 

Hadn’t she experienced more than enough excitement for a lifetime? “Of course. It’s aptly named something like...mm…’anticipation’.” He admitted. He wouldn’t tell her that it really _ was _ that kind of essence- there was no telling how she would react, and he didn’t need to have a different kind of problem on his hands- so he only waited for her to decide when to try the next flavor.

She hesitates after sipping this one. Without saying a word, she puts it down. Then, “I’ve had this one before.”

He could have guessed such a thing; the most noble and melancholy of complex feelings, an emotion, nay, a tangible _ chain _ that engulfed the most legendary creatures to the very least. Duty. Though, he preferred to call it ‘responsibility’. He enjoyed drinking it when he didn’t want to perform a task he absolutely needed to. “And the last one?”

This time, she hesitated. “...give me a moment.” There is something very pale about her demeanor, and he wonders if allowing her to taste ‘duty’ was a bit too much. She is a quick study, after all; a leader by reluctance with the practice of someone who didn’t have a childhood. He imagines this is sad. No. He _ knows _ it. He has known someone like her. Different, but the same. The King.

He nodded a bit. “Well, there’s only one left. We can instead drink something you like, if you prefer?”

She shakes her head. “Can’t stop when you’re about to cross the finish line.”

He can’t bring himself to smile at her words. He wants to ask if that is what keeps her going. Maybe that is the strength of humans. From his tower, he could only see-

“...mm. I like this one.”

He blinks, eyes focusing on her again, both hands cradling the little cup so that she can take in the aroma coming from the concoction in the cup. “Hm?” 

“I said, I like this one,” she repeated with a smile. “It tastes like something I’ve had before, but in a good way. Like…”

“Like?” He asks, interested.

“Home.” She considers this for a moment, her eyes flickering back to him, too, before she breathes in the smell again. “Or...I don’t know. A warm summer night. Something like that.” She nods, then takes another sip. “Yes. I’ll settle on that. This has to be black tea.”

It isn’t black tea. In fact, as he watches her finish the whole cup- the first she’s finished the entirety of- he grows so curious that it annoys him. “Home” she says. That tea… Hm. He shakes his head to himself, closing his eyes. Then, aloud, he finds himself saying, “That one may be my favorite. Congratulations.”

Why does this feel so strange? His fingers drum on the table, which she seems to notice, but doesn’t address. Instead, she says, “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes slid over to her person again. In the most measured of tones, he says, “Oh, just that you’re going to be in the bathroom for a while, later.”

A little squeal escapes her. “Merlin!”

In a teasing tone, he continues, “I can’t believe you drank them all! Truly astounding.”

“You...are something else.” Ifumi decided. “My favorite tea is English Breakfast.”

“Oh, interesting! I would have pegged you for one more commonly known in the far east,” he muses.

“Really? But aren’t all teas from the far east?” She leaned forward, propping her head on her hands. 

“Of course. But such a thing doesn’t matter in this day and age, where it can be grown anywhere,” he replies smartly, and she scoffs.

“That’s very English of you to say.”

Such a response tickles him a little. “Oh? Ifumi, I know you’re an American, but is that really something that matters?”

“Oh, definitely,” she nodded, “as you’re the most ‘English’ person I’ve ever seen.”

“Now, now,” he began, “I’m sure such a thing doesn’t apply to me, does it? After all, I am an incubus-”

“You’re like an English fairy!” She scoffed, which unwittingly earned a smile from him. 

As their conversation prattled further into the mundane, he found himself comforted in the fact that he’d changed the subject at exactly the right time. Telling her its name or the origins of its flavor would border on problematic; after all, that tea was commonly called “love”. 

* * *

What a peculiar way of putting it. “Home”. He’d never considered such a thing when brewing it, when specifically taking bits and pieces from different people to try them out himself. It was a bit voyeuristic, to be truthful, but could anyone really blame him? Such a thing was often lusted after and sometimes unattainable, even for humans, and even less concrete than something like “jealousy” or “pride”. How could someone blame him for chasing it?

He _ was _ curious, though. What would it taste like, smell like, for him? Or maybe he would simply taste what _ she _ thought love was. The spell itself was incomplete; maybe with a more proper understanding of what “love” was, it would have more precise effects. Such an experiment could be harmful to him, but he’d done a great deal of those kinds of experiments before.

“Home,” he murmurs to himself, musing about the concept. “Such a thing is…” 

Are “home” and the concept of “favorite” the same thing? He doesn’t know. But he was wrong about tea. He _ did _ have a favorite.

_ “Like a warm summer night? _”

Hm. He smiled, despite himself, albeit a bit smugly. Maybe she did, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin came home.


End file.
